A Little Night Music
by SymphonyinA
Summary: A fluffy one-shot of Erik and his two-year-old daughter based on Lilacs in the Louis-Philippe Room. What does a normal evening look like in this strange family? All fluff and cuteness


**Partly inspired by a drawing of Erik and his daughter with flower crowns by LadyoftheGeneral.**

 **NOTE: Félicité cannot walk. Her legs were deformed at birth and have basically no feeling from the mid-thigh down, although she can get on her knees.**

 **I probably should be trying to get up new chapters for fics, but I'm having a bit of writer's block so this came instead.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

She was a flower. Erik saw her as a frail little flower for him to tend to, like his lilacs so long ago.

"More, more!" Félicité giggled as he carried her around the garden.

She grabbed fistfuls of petals and decorated her blonde curls with them, throwing them up over her head in rainbows.

His head was tilted slightly in curiosity. The poor girl couldn't get any to stay, but she didn't realize this until she glanced into the birdbath.

She began to gently fuss, then she whined, "Help, Baba, my f'owers! Gone!"

He sighed, "You don't have enough hair, my dear, nor is your method productive."

She humphed, and began throwing a tantrum, writhing in his arms.

No matter what Christine said to him about disciplining her, he couldn't bear the child's fits.

"No, no, it's alright," he pleaded desperately, "shh, don't cry, little one, I... I-I know how to make crowns out of them. Do you want a crown?"

She beamed, instantly appeased, "Pwease, Baba!"

"Pick some more flowers."

He took her around again. She grabbed fistfuls of lilac, daisies, and dandelions, then shoved them into his hands once he was sitting on the white swing with her beside him.

"Cwown, pwease Baba?" She smiled with all her little pearly teeth.

He knitted them together in his lap. Her smile was like Christine's; it filled his soul with light until he could do little but grin stupidly in reply.

"Why weaw mack?" She asked, grabbing at it.

He shoved her hand away, and she tumbled backwards on the swing. She promptly began bawling.

"Oh, no, shh, forgive me!" He pleaded, unable to comfort her. "Poor little Félicité! It's alright, I'll take it off if you hate it so. But we must be careful not to let your nursemaid see."

He removed it for her, and she giggled.

"Got nose!" She said, holding her fist like her mother did with her, pretending to steal her nose. "Why no nose?"

She felt the cavity, and Erik was helpless to stop her.

"Baba? Why?" She whined.

"Because I was born different, like how your legs are."

"Oh..." She replied, quite satisfied with the explanation. "F'owers now?"

He continued with intertwining the flowers, then placed it upon her head. She shrieked with delight, clapping her chubby hands.

"Let me see!" She pleaded, sliding off the swing and crawling towards a puddle. Her mouth fell slack, "Pwetty. I pwetty!"

"Let me carry you, you'll ruin your dress-"

She giggled and darted away, having come up with an idea. He sighed. The attempt at mild discipline had already been given up.

She returned to him with another fistful of flowers, and her blue play-dress covered in dirt and green stains.

"Up, Baba," she commanded.

He obliged. She threw the flowers on his head, giggling.

"Pwetty. Baba pwetty!" Then her face fell. "Why cwy? Why sad? Hug, Baba? Kiss?"

She cocked her head in confusion, and nuzzled into his chest as he wept and held her.

"Don' cry," she told him. "You pwetty."

"Erik?" Christine called. "Erik, lunch is ready- what on earth have you two done to the flowers?! And your dress! Anne-Marie won't be able to get any sleep tonight trying to wash that, Erik, why on earth-?" She paused. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Baba cry!" Félicité whined.

Christine set her on her hip, "Erik, what's wrong?"

He replaced his mask, "Nothing, my love, nothing."

"That doesn't seem like nothing, but if you say so... Come on, let's go eat. Félicité, why don't we leave your crown outside-?"

"Why can't she wear it?" Erik demanded.

"Well, it's... Yes, I suppose it's fine, but Euphrasie will want one."

"I'll make another."

She sighed, "Alright, be quick... And how is Princess Félicité today, hm?"

"Sad," she replied.

"Why are you sad?"

"Baba cry," she said as her mother sat her at the table.

"Why was he crying?"

"Pwetty f'owers."

"Pretty flowers?..."

Euphrasie came toddling in, giggling as Anne-Marie pursued. Christine glanced to the garden, biting her lip in thought.

"Where's your husband?" Anne-Marie asked as she wrestled Euphrasie into her chair.

"He's- Euphrasie! Sit still like a lady, goodness- he's making a flower crown."

She blinked, "Excuse me?"

"For Euphrasie, since Félicité has one-"

"Mama!" Euphrasie whined. "Why Fillie-?"

"You'll get one in a moment. Oh, I wish he would discipline them. They run the house when he's in the room, and even when he's not now."

"Better than some fathers."

"Well, I would prefer obedient daughters. They whine so much, and Félicité's tantrums," she sank into her chair with a moan of despair, then smiled. "But you're right. It could always be worse."

Erik came back inside with a crown for Euphrasie, who was beside herself with delight.

"Tell Baba thank you," Christine said.

"T'ank you," Euphrasie giggled, grazing the flowers with her hand.

"And you, Félicité."

"T'ank you!"

Erik was grateful for his mask so they wouldn't see him blushing and beaming like an idiot.

Once Anne-Marie had said grace (she ate with them because, really, there was no sense in her not), Erik and her filled the girls' plates.

"Don' wan'," Félicité whined at Erik, pointing to the broccoli and sliding away her plate.

"Félicité, it's healthy," Christine told her.

Euphrasie pushed her plate away as well, "Don' wan'."

Christine pleaded with her eyes across the table to Erik. Tell them no this time, please-

"Just one," he offered.

Euphrasie's eyes lit, but Félicité crossed her arms, "No!"

Christine pushed out her chair, "You can't behave like that, you need to sit alone for a while-"

"No!" She whined.

"Christine, dear," Erik argued, "it's alright-"

"No it's not! You coddle her too much."

"But of course she doesn't want to eat that."

"It's good for her."

"Bad!" Félicité whined. "Bad bad bad!"

"That's how you're behaving," Christine retorted. "Erik, I can't keep doing this every night. She needs to sit out for a little while, and then she has to eat her broccoli. She'll never learn if she's allowed to do this!"

Erik glanced down at his empty plate, "Félicité, stop throwing a fit and eat your broccoli."

She ceased immediately, but whined, "Baba-"

"You heard me. Obey your mother."

She humphed, but began picking at her food. Euphrasie followed her exactly.

Christine turned to Anne-Marie in wonder, who gave her an equally surprised look at this new knowledge.

"Erik, why have you kept this from us?" Christine whispered as she cut her chicken.

"To be honest, my love..." He fumbled with his fingertips. "I didn't know that would work."

When dinner was done, the girls played with their dolls on the drawing room carpet. Christine read a book, and Erik had curled up at her feet, his head resting on her lap. Anne-Marie was off doing laundry, muttering to herself about Erik letting Félicité crawl around the garden.

"Baba?" Félicité asked, crawling over to him. "Baba p'ay?"

He opened his eyes, "Not now, little flower."

She whimpered, "Pwease?"

Christine bent down to kiss Erik's head, "Surely you want to?"

He looked up at her in wonder, "I s-suppose. I'll play with you, Félicité."

She clapped her hands together in delight, "Baba p'ay!"

She handed him her old doll (which was only a month old, but Erik had already bought them both new ones). It had two blue glass eyes, blonde hair that hadn't yet been ruined by over-brushing and tiny hands, a mauve dress, and two little white shoes.

He never told Christine how much he spent on them, but she never asked, only sighed and smiled upon seeing a new gift of his. Best they were for them and not her, anyway, she had far to much already.

"Baba name Wiwy (lily)," Félicité said.

Erik mostly sat and held the doll up when they played, unless Félicité addressed him. The dolls had two miniature tea sets and tables, which were on opposing ends of the room, in the two girls' houses. Félicité's name was Rose, and Euphrasie's was Sun.

"Wiwy wan' tea?" Félicité asked.

"Yes," Erik replied.

"Yes pwease, Baba," she chided.

Christine giggled from behind her book.

"Yes, please," he told her.

She tipped the invisible liquid into the cup he held with two fingers by his doll.

"And t'ank you," she said.

"Thank you, Félicité-"

"Wose, Baba, my name Wose for game."

"Thank you, Rose."

She giggled. Euphrasie knocked on the side of the sofa like a door.

They continued playing for quite some time until Christine set aside her book and came over.

"Time for bed, darlings," she said.

They both whined and tumbled onto the carpet. She kneaded her forehead.

"Every night..." she mumbled. "Come on, Euphrasie, time for bed-"

"My cwown!" She whined.

"Baba can make you a new one tomorrow, or I can."

"P'ay more! One mowe minute, pwease?"

Christine sighed, "One more minute..."

They giggled and continued, and though they still fussed when dragged off to bed a minute later, it was far more subdued than what they would have done.

Erik took Félicité up onto his bed and she lifted up her arms so he could change her into her nightgown. He removed her crown, but set it where she could see it from her cradle, on his nightstand.

"Not s'eepy," she yawned.

"I know."

"Wan' p'ay."

"It's nighttime, little one."

She humphed as he set her into her cradle. When he had tucked her in, she kicked off the blankets.

"Félicité, come now, it's bedtime like normal."

"S'eep wit' you?" She asked.

"No."

"Why no?"

He searched for an excuse, "I've been told I kick in my sleep."

"Kick? I too small kick, I can s'eep wit' you."

"It's time for your lullaby now," he sighed.

She beamed, "I sing, too?"

"If you want. Do you know the words to any?"

"I hum."

"Alright, you hum."

She fell asleep before he had finished, curled up in her blankets. He stared at her for quite a while until Christine drifted in.

"Is she asleep?" She whispered.

He nodded, his eyes welling up and his shoulders beginning to tremble.

"Let's go downstairs," she offered.

He nodded, following her into the living room. He promptly burst into tears, clinging to her skirts like a child.

"What is it now, Erik?" She asked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm a terrible father-"

"How are you-?"

"I am! You're right, I let her have whatever she wants, because I can't bear her tears, her little tears, they're like acid, my Christine, drops of acid burning into my heart!"

"It's alright, I understand. But you're a wonderful father, you play with them-"

"But I said no first, because I wanted to stay with you."

"You need to quit worrying... I'm almost done with my book, come sit with me."

He nodded, positioning himself as he had earlier. He fingered the hem of her dress and sighed in her perfume on the fabric as quietly as he could.

Once she had slipped away to bed, one of his cold kisses lingering upon her forehead, he went into his. He removed his jacket and vest, then his shoes, but had no intention to sleep. Félicité cooed from her cradle.

He rested his head back on the mahogany bedframe. Perhaps he should try to sleep...

He jerked awake from a nightmare, panting and clawing at the bedsheets, all caked in sweat.

"Christine's alright," he repeated over and over to himself. "She's alright, she's alright, she's married to Erik, she likes him, she's alright..."

"Baba?" Félicité chimed from her cradle. "Okay?"

He gave a sob, "I'm f-fine, little one..."

"No cwy, baba, make me sad... Hug?"

She was on her knees, and she extended out her hands.

He couldn't resist her. He pulled her against him, against his hideous, unworthy chest, and she patted over his heart.

"No cwy, baba," she yawned. "No cwy..."

And she fell asleep there. On him.

His eyes darted about the room in panic. What was he supposed to do now? Set her back in her cradle and wake her? But he couldn't possibly do that, she had to remain asleep.

She sighed a little 'coo,' and her hand shifted down a bit on his white shirt.

He lied back, careful not to wake her. She remained asleep for quite some time, and when his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, he didn't have another nightmare.

Only, he woke to one.

"Baba!" Félicité wailed, sobbing from the floor beside the bed. "Baba!"

"Oh, poor little thing!" He crooned, scooping her up. "I should've put you back in your cradled, forgive me, are you hurt? Poor little thing!"

"Huwt," she whined. "Huwt, baba kiss."

He blinked, "Baba what?"

"Kiss where huwt, wike mama and nursie."

"N-no, it's fine-"

She wailed, and he kissed the back of her head without thinking. She instantly ceased.

"Awl better," she said.

He stared at her in wonder, then went to put her in her cradle. There was a knock at the door.

"Monsieur?" Anne-Marie called. "Everything alright?"

"It's fine," he replied.

Her footsteps faded away and a door shut.

Félicité got onto her knees again, her face alive in the darkness with mischievousness.

"P'ay music?" She whispered.

"It's late-"

"Pwease, Baba?"

He sighed, but placed her on his hip and brought her down to the piano. She giggled and he put a finger to his lips.

"Shh," he said.

She repeated the action, "Shhh!"

Then he realized he had forgotten his mask. But everyone was asleep, and Félicité didn't care a bit. She scooted herself up onto his knees, placing her fingers upon the piano keys and craning her neck around to smile at him.

"My song?" She asked.

"Whatever you want to play, little dove."

She beamed, positioning her hands with her chest puffed up, as if this was a concert. And then she began, clumsily due to her tiny hands, but Erik could see what lay beneath. She was incredibly gifted, knowing what notes fit where, and which ones didn't, but where to put the misfit ones to add interest to the piece. He watched her in awe.

"P'ay wit' me, Baba," she told him.

He was skilled enough to make up a duet with her, as she was quite good at staying in one key, and her notes tended to be predictable. Three hands danced upon the ivory keys until they both heard the tapping of a foot behind them.

Christine had her arms crossed, "It's three in the morning, Erik, what on earth is this?"

"Did we wake you?" He whimpered. "Forgive me, my love-"

"It's not that, she's supposed to be asleep."

"She fell off the bed."

Christine squinted in confusion, "Off the bed...? You let her sleep in bed with you?"

He nodded hesitantly.

"Well..." she sighed, "I'm glad that you're bonding with her, but she needs to be asleep now. I don't want to be dealing with an exhausted two-year-old."

Félicité whimpered, "One more?"

Christine let her arms fall to her sides, "Oh, fine. Let me hear."

Once they had made her lips part in awe, they went back up to bed.

"Kiss, Baba?" Félicité asked. "Huwt."

"No, you're not hurt anymore, go to sleep-"

She fussed, "Why no kiss?"

"B-because..." he gave in, placing one upon her soft forehead. "A-are you content... n-now?"

She nodded, "Night, Baba."

"Goodnight, little flower."


End file.
